American Western Romantic Novelist
Zane Grey Orig. name Pearl Grey
American Western Romantic Novelist
Instantly a thick blackness seemed to enfold her and silence as of a dead world settled down upon her. Drowsy as she was she could not close her eyes nor refrain from listening. Darkness and silence were tangible things. She felt them. And they seemed suddenly potent with magic charm to still the tumult of her, to sooth and rest, to create thought she had never thought before. Rest was more than selfish indulgence. Loneliness was necessary to gain conciseness of the soul.
Realism is death to me. I cannot stand life as it is.
What is writing but an expression of my own life?
It was a decent New Year's, but it took a million officers to make it so.
Recipe For Greatness - To bear up under loss; To fight the bitterness of defeat and the weakness of grief; To be victor over anger; To smile when tears are close; To resist disease and evil men and base instincts; To hate hate and to love love; To go on when it would seen good to die; To look up with unquenchable faith in something ever more about to be. That is what any man can do, and be great.
What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.
It was the elision of the weaker element--the survival of the fittest; and some, indeed very many, mothers must lose their sons that way.
Rustlers, cattle, foremen, sheriffs, and Heaven only knows what, replied Hettie, distractedly.
What's all the row over at Ben's? [Mrs. Ide] inquired, placidly, from her comfortable chair.
Jealousy is an unjust and stifling thing.
Shut off your wind, Jack! And you, too, Blaze! I didn't want you fellows to come here. But as you would come, you've got to shut up. This is my business.
When I envied a man's spurs then they were indeed worth coveting.
Late in June the vast northwestern desert of wheat began to take on a tinge of gold, lending an austere beauty to that endless, rolling, smooth world of treeless hills, where miles of fallow ground and miles of waving grain sloped up to the far-separated homes of the heroic men who had conquered over sage and sand.
So it was in him, then ? an inherited fighting instinct, a driving intensity to kill.
Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.
Like an arrow sprung from a bow Betty flashed past the Colonel and out on the green. Scarcely ten of the long hundred yards had been covered by her flying feet when a roar of angry shouts and yells warned Betty that the keen-eyed savages saw the bag of powder and now knew they had been deceived by a girl.
So that's troublin' you? I reckon it needn't. You see it was this way. I come round the house an' seen that fat party an' heard him talkin' loud. Then he seen me, an' very impolite goes straight for his gun. He oughtn't have tried to throw a gun on me - whatever his reason was. For that's meetin' me on my own grounds. I've seen runnin' molasses that was quicker'n him. Now I didn't know who he was, visitor or friend or relation of yours, though I seen he was a Mormon all over, an' I couldn't get serious about shootin'. So I winged him - put a bullet through his arm as he was pullin' at his gun. An' he droppped the gun there, an' a little blood. I told him he'd introduced himself sufficient, an' to please move out of my vicinity. An' went - Lassiter
Work is my salvation. It changes my moods.
Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.
The difficulty, the ordeal, is to start.
Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.
Love of man for woman - love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself. - Zane Grey
The Indian story has never been written. Maybe I am the man to do it.
You and I will never live to see the day that women recover their balance.
Love of man for woman - love of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.